Fourteen
Fourteen
I am standing on a high, narrow rock. Behind, a meadow of lush grass and wildflowers. Ahead, the rock falls steeply away into a deep emerald valley. Tight bands of conifers grow vertically on the steep slopes. At the bottom is the winding silver strip of a river, shimmering in the sunlight.
A tiny figure stands on the riverbank, waving both arms above his head. He is urging me to come down and join him.
Walter.
The breeze tugs my hair and the sun is warm on my face.
The tang of freedom is in the air, and I’m giddy with it.
I close my eyes and tip forward until I reach the point where I cannot change my mind.
I begin to fall, slowly at first, then faster; the air rushes and roars.
I’m arching forward, but something isn’t right.
I open my eyes and Karl is there, in a glider, sailing toward me, blocking my way. ..
I wake with a start. Pushing myself upright, I peer at the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece, but it’s only five thirty-five.
I flop back onto the pillow, the vividness of the dream still with me.
It isn’t too late. I could stay here, and everything will be the same.
Or I can go, and everything will be different.
Be a good girl. Clean of mind and body. Don’t stray into the path of evil.
Be meek. Act only for the welfare of others.
That’s what He would tell me. I lie still and wait for his voice.
Nothing. I prop up my pillows and recline against them, looking toward Hitler’s portrait over the mantelpiece.
It’s fuzzy and unclear in the half-light seeping around the edges of the closed shutters. Still nothing.
My mind is blank. Empty. Quiet. Blissfully quiet. Could that be permission? Really, what harm can there be? It’s just a walk with an old friend. Nothing more.
I’ M EARLY OF course. Ridiculously so. What will Walter think? That I’m too eager? I hope my long skirt, high buttoned blouse, and shapeless jumper will convince him otherwise. God forbid that he should know what thoughts have really crossed my mind.
I throw a stick for Kuschi. He brings it back, drops it at my feet, and whines until I throw it again. I hurl it into the river and he bounds in, swimming hard against the current to grab it before it floats away. He has no fear of water.
A sound on the road: a stone clipped by a shoe, scattering across tarmac.
It’s him. Striding up the lane with his hands in his pockets, hat pulled low over his forehead. He looks up and smiles.
A million butterflies flutter in my belly.
“You came,” he says.
“So did you.”
He laughs, I laugh, and everything melts. My insides, the nippy air, the trees and the hedgerows, the road, the bridge—all soften and bleed together, warmed and muted, running like wet paint on a canvas.
“Let’s walk,” he says, and we fall into step on the path.
We follow the river through a wood where the roofs of scattered houses can be glimpsed through a dense tangle of branches, marking the edge of town.
From here the river flows out into wide, undulating farmland.
With each step, we put distance between us and Leipzig, and I feel a rising, glorious sense of liberty.
“How was summer camp?” he asks.
“It was okay.” I pause, unsure of how much I should reveal of the BDM to an outsider. A possible enemy of the Reich. We step in time with each other on the path.
“You don’t seem very enthusiastic.” He laughs. “But that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Why not?” I decide to go along with his misinterpretation.
“Because you always were different. Special different, I mean. Like how you ran out of school that awful day and chased after Freda and me...” He swallows hard.
“It was a long time ago, Walter,” I say quietly. “I’ve changed.”
He continues as though he didn’t hear. “I always admired that about you. Your independence of mind. Your spirit and passion. The way you dreamed of becoming a doctor, even though it was impossible. I knew you were smart, questioned things. Definitely not a blind follower of rules.” He pauses.
“I can tell that you, of all people, see the truth behind the rhetoric.”
I glance at him. His words make my skin feel hot. No one has ever spoken so openly to me. Besides, he makes flaws like independence and questioning of rules sound like good qualities.
“How could you notice all that, when you never took the slightest bit of interest in me?” I ask.
“Who said I never took any interest in you?”
“You barely noticed I existed.”
He shakes his head and smiles. “Well, that’s where you are entirely wrong, Miss Herta,” he says with a wink. “I noticed much more about you than you might imagine.”
I feel my cheeks redden.
“So what do you plan to do when you leave school?” Walter asks, changing the subject.
“I’d like to go to university”—I sigh—“but Vati doesn’t want me to. Besides, it’s terribly complicated to get to university these days if you’re a girl. And Vati would need to approve. Of course, I’ve had to give up that silly dream of being a doctor. How I wish I’d been born a boy.”
“I’m rather glad you weren’t.” I feel his eyes on me and my skin burns even hotter. “I think you would make an excellent doctor,” he adds.
“And how on earth would you know that? You haven’t seen me since I was twelve.”
Herr Metzger’s warnings flicker through my mind. Should I be wary of these compliments? Is he trying to ingratiate himself?
“People don’t change,” Walter is saying, “not deep down. You’re still the same girl inside, I’m sure of it. Anyway, do you want to know the thing I really used to like about you?” He’s smiling again.
“What?”
“You laughed at all my jokes. However bad they were, and some were truly dreadful. That’s earned you a special place in my heart.”
I smile. “And do you still tell terrible jokes?”
“Of course!” He puts his head to one side and looks at me. “Did you hear about the dog who used to chase people on bikes?”
I shake my head.
“In the end,” he says, looking deeply serious, “they had to take his bike away!”
“Oh, you tease!” I laugh. “I see the jokes haven’t improved. And are you the same boy you always were?”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh? So do you still strip down to your underwear in front of girls before you swim in the lake? And do you still get cross and stamp your feet when you can’t be the cowboy with the rifle, because you have to be the Indian with just a bow and arrow?”
“Yes. Most certainly. And what, Miss Herta, is wrong with that?” He swipes playfully at my arm. “Everyone knows it’s much better to be the cowboy with the proper weapon. And besides, it will be a very lucky girl who gets to see me in my underwear!”
Blushing furiously now, I begin to run so he can’t see my face. I call over my shoulder, “Race you to the big tree!”
Kuschi barks with excitement and shoots off down the path ahead of me. I focus on the tree, chin up, pumping my arms and legs. But his feet thump closer and closer behind me. In a flash, he is overtaking and accelerates away, finishing lengths ahead. I might as well have been walking.
He waits by the tree, hands on hips, chest rising and falling. “As I recall,” he says with a wink, “you never did beat me at running.”
“Well, you obviously haven’t learned when it’s polite to let a girl win!”
“And if I had? I’d’ve let you win on purpose, and you wouldn’t have liked that, either.”
It’s just like being twelve years old again.
I march straight past him and he runs to catch up. “See?” he says. “I’ve proved my point. People don’t really change as much as they think they do.”
He’s right, of course. I would have felt cheated. I give him a lighthearted thump, and without really understanding why, we are both laughing once again, and I’m glad he won. He is the boy, after all.
We follow the course of the river through a field of ripening yellow wheat. It’s waist high and grows right up to the edge of the path. Kuschi dives into it, chasing something. He disappears, reemerging farther up the path, tongue lolling from his mouth.
There is not another soul to be seen, and the city is far behind us. Walter’s presence is bedazzling. So easy, but alarming. Like being with a rare and magnificent tiger. It seems tame, and I’m enthralled by its beauty, but it has the power to destroy me.
“Is it true,” I ask quietly, “what they say? About this Conspiracy of International Jewry to take over the world?”
“Well, if there is one, I’m certainly not a part of it. Nor anyone else I know.”
I laugh at my own stupidity. Of course he wouldn’t tell me, even if he was part of it.
“Seriously, Hetty, you can’t really believe these lies?” He looks at me with worried eyes.
I think carefully before speaking. He might be different, but the rest of his kind are to be feared.
“We’ve suffered. Us Germans, I mean. Ever since the punishment of Versailles. So much poverty and hardship as a result.”
“You say us Germans ,” Walter says, plucking a head of wheat and pulling it apart, dropping the pieces at his feet as he walks. “Can’t you see that I’m German, too? That is all I am. I’m more German, even, than you!”
“What on earth do you mean by that?”
“You have a French mother. My family have lived in Germany for generations. I’ve always been proud to be German.
My father was decorated with the Iron Cross for his bravery in the war, fighting for Germany .
And how has he been repaid? By being stripped of his citizenship and his livelihood!
We are aliens in our own country.” His eyes are wide and he waves his hands with passion.
He frowns and taps his temple. “Remind me. I forget—was your father decorated for bravery in the war?”
“No. He was brave though... He was overlooked for a medal. It was a travesty.”